By
MADAN GOPAL
Punjabi
literature is growing fast, and it is in the fitness of things that the
non-Punjabi intelligentsia should become acquainted with this important limb of
the ever-growing Indian literature.
Punjabi
is spoken in the tract a hundred miles north of Ambala Division, for the
influence of Hindustani, or Khari Boli, on Punjabi becomes very marked
near Ludhiana. The real home of Punjabi, or Central Punjabi as it is called, is
the Lahore-Amritsar area, its ‘beat’ being as far as Jullunder.
The
spoken Punjabi has its dialectic variations; the dialect spoken in Mianwali,
near the Indus, or the one spoken in Multan, is as intelligible, or as
unintelligible, to the Punjabi-speaking Lahore-born resident as is, say, Welsh
to a Londoner.
For
all practical purposes, however, Central Punjabi, usually referred to as
Punjabi, is the medium of expression and is the vehicle in which the bulk of
Punjabi literature exists. The reasons for this belong to the domain of
history; the region of Lahore and Amritsar has formed the seat of government
and has also been the centre of trade, All the literary talent has, therefore,
been attracted to this region. And, of course, Amritsar is the Mecca of the
Sikhs.
Spoken
Punjabi has a mixture of Persian and Sanskrit words: the former in the ordinary
course of daily life and the latter in religious and philosophical matters. It
has a primitive simplicity about it and the inflections of Punjabi idiom and
atmosphere render it the more difficult for translation.
Punjabi
can be written in two scripts: in the Persian script, like Urdu, or in
Gurmukhi, the alphabet of which is a variation of the Sanskrit alphabet and
which was devised by the fifth Guru to suit the inflexions and intonations of
the Punjabi language. It is in Gurmukhi that all the sacred books of the Sikhs
are written and it is again in this script that the bulk of the Punjabi
literature has grown and is growing. The religious and the romantic have been
the two dominant notes in Punjabi literature.
With
the British, who conquered the Punjab in 1846, came non-Punjabi clerks and
teachers who were conversant with the administration. The Education Department
was dominated by Bengalis or men from the United Provinces, then the N. W. P.
Punjabi, if not positively discouraged, was given no encouragement by the
administration. Urdu being the court language, it attracted all the talent in
the province. Soon English became the centre of attraction. As a result of this
development, Punjabi literature suffered a good deal and it was left only to a
few individuals “to keep the flame burning”; Punjabi was, for all practical
purposes, sneered at.
Came
the freedom movement and a political consciousness and with it came a pride in
the past. People looked back and turned to the literature of the soil. The
Khalsa Diwan was founded in 1888 A. D., to be replaced by the Chief Khalsa
Diwan. The Khalsa College, Amritsar, was founded in 1892 and the Sikh
Educational Committee, in 1908; this latter body controlled many other
Sikh organisations.
With this great Sikh revivalism are associated the names of the late Sir Sunder Singh Majithia, Sardar Jawahar Singh, Giani Dutt Singh of Patiala who started the first Punjabi paper and also ushered in a new era in Punjabi drama, and Bhai Vir Singh.
The
appearance of Bhai Vir Singh (born 1872) in Punjabi literature is
nothing short of a landmark. Without him Punjabi literature would not be what it
is today. It is not merely that his contribution to Punjabi literature has been
overwhelming; his impact on Punjabi has been a vital force. A prolific writer
of prose and poetry, he has added thousands of words to the Punjabi language
and introduced new and modern themes. He has also been the instrument in
popularising Punjabi, not only among the masses but also among the literate
classes and the inteligentsia. His personal contact has been responsible for
attracting many a writer to Punjabi. Bhai Puran Singh is an illustrious
instance.
A
writer of deep philosophical and reflective prose, he was the pioneer of Sikh
revivalism, Bhai Vir Singh is primarily a poet and he is easily by far the
best. His poetry is, generally speaking, one of devotional ecstacy. His
allegorical drama ‘Rana Surat Singh’ (1905) is a valued treasure in Sikh
homes. I have seen people lovingly and
respectfully put it in a cloth (over and keep it next only to the Guru
Granth Sahib. His Lahran De Har (1921) and Matak Hulare (1925),
are favourites in Punjabi homes.
Next
to Bhai Vir Singh in popularity and depth is Dhani Ram Chatrik (born 1876), to
whom are accredited some of the finest lyrics that Punjabi literature can boast
of. His Chandan Wari is very popular.
These
two poets dominated the field of Punjabi poetry for more than a quarter of a
century, till in the middle thirties there arose a young poet, Mohan Singh,
whose first book Save Palla, (which is now running in its seventh
edition–incidentally showing the increasing interest and demand for more
reading matter in punjabi) became at once the best seller on its appearance in
1936, and a young poetess, Mrs. Amriia Pritam, who has by now in her middle
twenties published in seven anthologies some 471 poems, ranging from stanzas of
four lines two poems running into 296 lines. Mohan Singh and Amrita pritam have
been the humanizing influence on Punjabi poetry. Their poetry is marked by a
freedom of form and by boldness of themes–themes closer to life.
“When
the formless feelings are translated into words”, writes Mrs. Amrita
pritam, “it is poetry; it is like the
passing mist, a momentary glimpse of the deep valleys of the heart,” adding:
“poetry
and child are the foundation of the world;
And
they need birth-pangs to come into being”
and
“Love
like the Infinite Self is an eternal Truth; the poet is closer to Nature and
Nature is Truth; when the poet’s ears are at one with the heart-beat of Nature,
he hears the beat of love, the eternal Truth.”
The
poet’s experience is individual and personal.
“To
light others,
The
poet and the flame
Consume
themselves,"
Amrit
Lahran the maiden book of a maiden author, Amrita Kaur,
betrays no very commendable feature. Her poetry in this book is conventional,
both in form and substance. She is tied down to the past; her ambitions, to say
the least, are commonplace; she reflects on the mysteries of the universe, the
sun, the moon, the stars, light and darkness, life and death, but her thoughts
disclose no depth of feelings, or maturity. Nevertheless, hers is a sensitive
mind.
Amrita
Pritam is a religious girl. Quite a few of her poems are no more than a
paraphrase of the Granth Sahib, or, for that matter, the scriptures of
any Faith–namely, to do a good turn without the hope of return; to break through
the net of attachment to the things of this world; to have a clean conscience,
which is far more important than a thousand pilgrimages; to remember Him eight
times a day and to seek Him; to have mercy, for without mercy man ceases to be
human; and so on.
Recapturing
the sentiments of the heart has always been the preoccupation of the poet and a
source of delight to readers. She is no exception. Throughout her literary
compositions, Amrita pritam revels in these sentiments. Her poetry overflow
with love, and so much is she dyed in love that, identifying herself with the
object of her love, she says:
“I
am the beloved of Ranjha;
Call
me Ranjheti and Hir no more”,
and also realizes that
she is no nearer her goal than is earth from the sun, which wails:
“Every one of my pores
Is
dyed in your love;
But,
in spite of this
I
stand afar.”
She is in search of a guide, “who may come any day”; her
only wish is to become one with the Infinite, like the stream becoming one with
the sea: –
“In
one ocean there are endless waves,
I
am but a drop in the ocean river.”
In
Jiunda Jiwan, Amrita Pritam’s second book, she has travelled far.
Her ambition which, in her first book was limited to mere applause, rises much
higher. She now refuses to sing songs which lack life, which don’t sing of the
stout hearts which cannot unite the separated ones and which cannot bring
together those at loggerheads.
“My
life’s vision goes far;
My
hopes are high;
And
my ambitions challenging.”
Her idealism has come into
its own; there is a flight of imagination; there is a desire to change the
order of things and to replace it by a new one. The form of her poetry is less
conventional.
Her
sole purpose now, as the title of the book indicates, is to impart life, to give
Man a faith, an ideal–to make his heart stouter. Her poems are meant for all
but addressed particularly to the young. She asks herself:
“Oh,
the nightingale;
With the power generated of suppressed
ambitions;
Make
others’ hearts stouter;
Each
drop of your blood is a menace to the enemy’s strength”
and again:
“By
your deep and noble love,
By
your impassioned songs,
By
your heart’s true voice,
Awake
the sleeping ones.”
and still again :
“Awake
the sleeping ones,
Stir
the awakened ones,
And
lead the walking ones to giddy heights.”
Most
of these poems are meant to be not only a message of hope, but also a message
of action, a message of life. She exhorts the young:
“You
are your own world;
The
measure of awakening;
And
still you blame Fate?
Arise,
oh you young man;
And
write your own destiny.”
She
wants to see the young pulsate with energy and young healthy blood in every
vein and “passion in the eyes,” for the rate of pulse-beat depends on the
“youth of the heart.”
“The
ray of hope beckons ahead;
It
is also the motive force;
Life’s
difficult journey doesn’t end
Living,
living, it goes ahead.”
She cautions:
“The
distant beautiful mountain
Is
difficult to climb–
Like
love which is easy to fall into
But
difficult to abide by–
Which
only they can climb
Whose
hearts do not sink
On
the sight of the immensity of height.”
Trel
Dhote Phul, her third book, however, is the one in which she
may be said to have found her soul. Not only has she come by full
maturity–rather, should we say, loftiness of thought–but her expression is not
restrained by influences which previously weighed on her freedom of expression
and thought.
Original
and strikingly fresh similes are the soul of Amrita Pritain’s poetry; and for
this she draws upon the familiar scenes of the life as it is lived in a Punjab
village. Her childhood memories are too deeply imprinted on her mind, as also
her love for Punjabi, to popularise which she takes a vow in her first book,
and she captures all the scenes of her childhood with wonderful sympathy and
poignancy. Her style is often conversational, and quite a few of her poems are
in the form of questions and answers.
Amrita
Pritam is a tunist; her poetry is very musical to the ear. There arc poems in
which the word music plays an important part. The Dance of Life, for
instance, opens thus:
“Dah,
dinh, dinh dah;
Dah
dinh dinh dah;
Dah
tim tim tah;
Tah
dimh dimh dah”
Amrita
Pritam’s three subsequent books, which followed in rapid succession, O Gitan
Walla, Baddallan de Palle Wich, and Sanjh di Lalli, show a greater
intensity of feeling, depth of thought ascent of idealism, pointed and
well-chiselled expression and a closer impact of life on her. The conflict
between instinct and intimate experience of realities becomes very marked. Her poetry
has a wider appeal and touches many angles till now overlooked by her. Her last
book has been acclaimed by critics as one of the most valuable
contributions to modern Punjabi literature.
Individuals
constitute a nation and it is for the uplift of such that she cries out:
“If
God’s creation–Man–
Is
trampled underfoot;
Of
what use is His name?”
and
“The
earth is bloody red;
Civilisation
precarious;
Humanity
and religion prostrate...
Comes
a prophet...Nanak, Lenin, Gandhi...
Then
awakens animality, which,
Mad
with power,
Passes
into the hands of an autocrat.
She
adds:
“The
walls-of Time are the walls of mirrors;
You
see all before your eyes……
But
they are beyond your reach.”
Amrita
Pritam is not an arm chair poet; she has seen life at close quarters, the life
of the masses; indeed few things escape her. She sheds tears on the lot of the
poor labourers who work themselves to death with empty stomach to make others
prosperous and themselves poor. Says the mill-worker’s wife:
“When
at the day’s end,
After
giving the labour of rock-like chest and steel-like muscles,
And
getting in return the chimney smoke
In
your lap, you returned home;
Then
that smoke of the chimney and the smoke of your breath
Looked
similar;
Your
rock-like chest and steel-like muscles
All
covered with coal dust……….
An
age is past
But
now when smoke rises
From
any chimney, from any mill
To
me even now
Your
breath looks
Mingled
with chimney smoke.
Then
out of your breath came the chimney smoke
But
now out of the chimney smoke
Comes
your breath.
Unoblivious of the
time factor, she cries out:
“A
moment comes
When
after centuries
The
curtain of Good and Evil is lifted;
When
the lining to oppression
Melts
like a cloud...
And
therefrom emerges–
Humanity
crushed from the burden of centuries–
Without
form, without figure
But
merely a symptom,
Revolution
When
muscles twitch
The
chains and century-old links
Break
like the lightning...”
Lately,
Mrs. Amrita Pritam has taken to writing short stories and she has carried into
her short stories the sensitivity that characterises her poetry. A collection
of some ten stories has appeared under the significant name “26
Tears After”